


Kaleidoscope Eyes (Emerald City)

by dilourry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, these kinda give it all away anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:37:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dilourry/pseuds/dilourry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...he spoke so unbearably slow, taking his time to enunciate every syllable; lips moving in an intricate sync, like clockwork bonding to uphold a sinful nightmare.</p><p>Louis shivers."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kaleidoscope Eyes (Emerald City)

**Author's Note:**

> The fic that took up 6 months of my life. (6,033 words)
> 
> Your comments make me very happy, because your opinion is beautiful and very much valued, don't ever forget that :)
> 
> Title from Panic! at the Disco song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7MxPsD_Sgg
> 
> Anyways, special thanks to the following for just existing, you guys mean the world to me: Isabel, Illyssa, Dan, and Kyra.
> 
> Oh and Jake Bass, because I've never had gay sex, so.

Here's the thing _,  
  
Louis doesn't understand.   
  
_ It's not like the time a rabid dog broke into his house and he had to borrow the What-To-Do-When-You-Encounter-A-Siberian-Caribou manual from his neighbor. He doesn't recall of any sort of handbook where the rabid dog is instead a very pretty boy and that the only thing he'll ever break is possibly his heart.  
  
  
  
x  
  
  
  
"Poor lad must feel terrible being that tall." There he was: Harry Edward Styles doing whatever the hell Harry Edward Styles' do. "Ever wonder if birds try to build nests on his hair, or what some people consider his hair somehow?" Louis continued, glaring at him from the safety of his Aviators.  
  
Niall, Liam, and Louis were sitting down on the bleachers of their UNI's football field. They were ready to go home, given that they've just finished practice, until Mr. John Lennon here showed up. As usual, he's surrounded by his chrysanthemum perfume, low-cut shirt group of fan girls. Louis almost gagged at the estrogen.  
  
"I like him." Niall shrugs.  
  
"Just last week I couldn't take a proper piss without you giving me shit for his football skills. Lack of, if I do recall." Louis accuses, his chest heaving as he oozes his last amount of energy into shoving his Irish friend.   
  
Niall takes a long sip from Louis' water bottle, his breath ragged as he says, "Well, can you blame me? The guy can't go 5 minutes without tripping over his own feet. Not that you seemed to mind."  
  
"You were breathing behind my neck." Louis says flatly.  
  
"Look, we've kind of had drinks with him a few times - _and before you say anything else,_  he just happened to be at the same pub as us." Liam says, rushing after a glance at Louis' best I'm-going-to-devour-your-first-born look. Louis opens his mouth to speak, but goes against it as the devil himself makes his way towards them.  
  
"You know," Harry says as he slowly staggers towards them. He brings his his left hand out to point to them, emphasizing every syllable with a gesture, "I'm starting to think you're stalking me." He had one hand on his hip while the other one took off his Ray Bans to place them on his hair, pushing his lion mane back.   
  
'Same pub as us', my arse.  
  
Liam and Niall end up doing this complex handshake with him before he sits down on the grass in front of them, Niall looking like a baby giraffe as he clumsily struggles to clean the clutter for Harry's lady friends to sit.   
  
"Who's this?" Harry asks, eyeing Louis from head-to-toe. Louis takes that as an opportunity to do the same to him; his smile is lopsided, perhaps too big for his face; his feet are blistered and gigantic, a thin layer of grime covering the soles from being barefoot; he's sporting a thin crown of some pink flowers on his hair,  _his hair._    
  
"Louis." he replies, tying his shoelace to avoid his eyes.   
  
"Good to meet you, I've heard a lot about you." he spoke so unbearably slow, taking his time to enunciate every syllable; lips moving in an intricate sync, like clockwork bonding to uphold a sinful nightmare.  
  
Louis shivers.   
  
"Great." he manages to reply, his sarcasm like cluster bombs; rampant, rapid fire intellectualism as his coping mechanism.  
 "Well sorry to break this fucking tea party, but I've better things to do. See you lads." he stands up and walks away, leaving Niall and Liam with their red-hot cheeks and angry eyebrows.  
  
Then there was Harry. Louis would like to stop his inner poet from surfacing, but it was inevitable. It's like those green eyes were actually wilting. Dying and decaying; once being lush gardens, then left on a year-long drought. Louis almost feels guilty.  _Almost_. That is, until he turns around to witness the vice-like grasps of his groupies, encompassing him to the pulp. With the quiver of their plumbago pouts and their cigarette-burn lust looks leaving an imprint in his memory, all those thoughts leave his head.  
  
He scoffs, flicking the fringe out of his eyes.  
  
Filthy hipsters.  
  
  
  
x   
  
  
  
"That's a great painting, Lou." a voice dark like stained glass praises, towering the easel on which Louis is painting on.  
  
He rolls his eyes and stops painting to look at him. He didn't have to, given that he'd recognize that voice anywhere (which is because it's obnoxiously morbid, not because it's the voice you get after you choke on a really big cock,  _thank you very much_ ).   
  
"Lou- _ee_ , and it's not even finished yet, you twat." he glowers, turning his attention back to the half finished canvas.   
  
"Those Michelangelo sculptures were missing their arms, but they're classics. Maybe we can work on one some other time, reckon your arse would look exceptionally good in one." Harry winks, doing this so often it reminds Louis of the time his mum had an eye spasm.  
  
"Yeah, we'll chop your limbs off, how about that?" he says dryly.  
  
And if he sits up straighter in his seat, arching his back, it was just because he couldn't bother reaching up to get the paint tube from the top shelf.  
  
"Mind if I sit?" Harry asks, pointing to the seat next to him.   
  
"Even if it does, it's not stopping you now, is it?" It's a rhetorical question, but Harry beams and shakes his head either way. He sits down on the stool that was originally Zayn's seat, but after Louis' daily Harry "bitching'' (observations),   
  
 _("Look at him, breathing like he owns the place."  
  
"Is that a _ ** _butterfly_** _on his stomach? Reckon he gets bullied a lot." (to which Harry whips his head at and sneers, "it's a moth").  
  
"You should have seen him at footy today, my nan runs faster than that."  
  
"Isn't she in a wheelchair?" Zayn would ask, a quiet murmur from between the circumference of the pencil on his lips, not looking away from what he was sketching.  
  
"Yeah, what's your point?"),  
  
_ Zayn just slowly moved next to someone worthy of his attention (someone who doesn't take the piss off his Sex in the City ring tone) and the seat has been empty since.  
  
Louis goes back to painting, Harry's eyes burning a hole through him. He could see him from the corner of his eye: He's placing his chin on top of his intertwined hands, looking at Louis like if he was the damn Mona Lisa. He's tried consulting Harry about it, but gave up on reasoning with him because Louis doesn't like being objectified,  
  
("Stop looking at me like that."  
  
"Like what?" Harry would reply, halfheartedly feigning ignorance with that stupid smile of his.   
  
"Like  _that_. I mean  _damn,_  it's only been a few weeks of COD."   
  
To which Harry scoffs at and says, "I don't think you understand, have you actually seen your arse?").  
  
Louis suddenly feels self-conscious, encouraging him to re-arrange his fringe and hope he didn't look like he takes road killed cats to the face for a living.   
  
That is, until he forgets he has the paint tube in his hand and somehow manages to splash Harry with an alabaster acrylic.  
  
In the face.   
  
Louis' mouth hangs open, and he can't bring himself to do anything other than  _stare_.  
  
"Well, what do you know," Harry smirks, leaning towards Louis so only he could hear, "just one pump and it's all over me."   
  
Then there's Zayn coming towards them; his Bradford twang, and skate-ramp hair, and pointless, ludicrous tattoos meticulously crafted to drive Louis to the nearest mental facility. "What has your poor soul done to deserve this." he chuckles, and Louis is about a minute and a half away from losing his shit because  _he_   _does not fucking need this right now.  
  
_ Despite their unrequited hate for each other (Zayn loves the bollocks out of him) Louis beams at him _,_ "Babe! I was beginning to think you were lost! How's the wife and kids? Quite the journey, innit?"   
  
"I don't know mate; are you going to be talking my ear off about Harry here, or are you going to stop being rude and ask me how my day went?" he hands Harry a wad of paper towels and makes him a face.   
  
Then there's Louis making his best Regina George bitch face, " _Excuse_  me?" He will not be made fun of by Zayn Malik of all people; the lad was caught jerking off to Severus Snape in grade 8,  _damn it_.  
  
"I knew you'd break eventually." Harry grins and Louis is pretty sure he's not breathing because  _dimplesdimplesdimples. "_ To be fair, I haven't met a single person who doesn't think of me as irresistible."  
  
"Oi mate, you done frolicking around the pansies? Just kiss him already!" Niall shouts from across the room, getting the attention of the few people surrounding them (read:  _the_   _entire sodding class, when was Niall even taking this course)._  Sometime during his cardiac arrest, he manages to babble the first thing that comes to his mind and hopes he doesn't sound too stupid because the esprit d'escalier is going to be a bitch once it hits him, "If anything, I'm talking about how girly your legs are."   
  
"You have a woman's arse." Harry replies whilst checking Louis out from where he was sitting and,  _lord_.  
  
"Well those petunias in your hair don't exactly scream manly now, do they?" he fires back.  
  
Harry slowly nods, looking at Louis with this /very/ intense Tyra Banks smize and says, "What a dick."  
  
"Oh, suck it up."  
  
"Soon." Harry smiles. It's scary, really, how penis-crazed first years are.   
  
"Keep dreaming." Louis says, giggling at Harry's pout face. Fucking  _giggles_.   
  
It's not too long until Harry too cracks a smile and says, "The Ivy at 11. See you there." with that he gets up from the stool, winks as he bows, and leaves.  
  
  
  
x  
  
  
  
"I can't believe I'm doing this." Louis groans.  
  
Zayn scowls at his phone, keeping a fixed look at the Candy Crush he was playing, "We heard you the first time, can you be quiet now?"   
  
Liam, Zayn, Niall, and Louis are at the pub. It was half past 11, so Harry was either hiding, or late. Louis assumes Harry's out doing something hipster like protesting against the deforestation in the Amazon with picket signs or making photosynthesis for all he cares.   
  
"Yeah Lou, chill. The guy's nice, give him a chance." Niall says as he chews a mouthful of chips, bits flying around and landing on the table. "If anything, I'd say you're sexually frustrated. The boy's got some luscious curls." he continues, flipping his non-existent long hair off his shoulder.   
  
Zayn and Liam erupt into a fit of laughter, their drinks swaying and spilling on the table from Liam having his arm around Zayn. "You should've seen him the other day, 'your legs are so long, you're so fit.' He was practically drooling; kill me if I'm ever like that with you, Liam." Zayn laughs, throwing shade at Louis' high voice. See, no matter how '05 My Chemical Romance scene kid people often depict Zayn to be, underneath that tough exterior, he's actually a middle aged woman that plays Candy Crush, watches Sex In The City, and reads Fifty Shades of Grey.   
  
"What are you talking about? I said his legs were girly, knock off you cow." he frowns, throwing a couple of chips at his face.  
  
"You're always looking at him, though. That and you somehow end up bringing him into the conversation." Liam notes, not daring looking at Louis in the eyes. See, he's the smart one of the group, the only one intimidated by Louis despite his /incredible/ Hulk muscles and their 3 years of friendship.   
  
"Well what do  _you_  bring, Liam? No hair?" Louis mocks, reaching out to tap Liam's crew-cut head.   
  
"Oh don't listen to him, love," Zayn coos, eyeing Liam fondly, the corners of his mouth rising, "he's just jealous because of his metro sexual haystack he has to live with."   
  
Louis' eyes widen, looking at Zayn incredulously, "How very fucking  _dare_  you-"   
  
"Aww don't be mad, Lou, you've got Harry." Niall says, laughing and high-five-ing the other boys, like Harry is the answer to the world's problems. It's almost comical how very desperate housewives they are, all ganging up on Louis.   
  
"Why am I still friends with you lot." Louis sighs looking away, yet soon regretting doing so. He's hypnotized, frozen on the spot; it's like time has stopped and, suddenly, all of his thoughts leave his head, and instead flow downward and settle deep into his other one.  
  
Harry is here, his usual flower crown replaced by a messy quiff that Louis just wants to tug and tangle his hands in. He wants loud moans to escape from those sinful, red lips. Fucking hell,  _his lips;_  bitten and obscene, full and ajar. Louis is dazed. He's never wanted anything in life as bad as those lips around his cock. His cheeks are faintly pink; from the cold or from running, he doesn't know. What he does know is the deep want of them hollowed to the point where his dimples are invisible; deepthroating Louis until he's crying out incoherent words, gripping Harry's broad shoulders until they're bruised. His shirt- button up with the top half unbuttoned- is exposing collarbones that Louis wants to lick, and bite, and bruise (claim). The shirt is  _greengreengreen_  making his  **greengreengreen**  eyes look even brighter, and Louis wants nothing more than to see them tear up as his dick slams into the back of Harry's throat.  
  
He's a symphony that's begging to be played, and Louis just happens to be the only conductor in the room.  
  
Louis shuts his eyes and breathes in deep, throwing his head back as the familiar feeling in his groin kicks in.   
  
"Sorry I'm late, my sister's car broke down," Harry says slightly out of breath as he settles in the seat in front of Louis.  
  
"I had to walk the way here. Anyways, what does a guy like me need to get a drink around here?"  
  
 _Well_.   
  


x  
  
  
  
"Who was the genius that picked this pub? I'm setting myself on fire if I hear Blurred Lines once more." Zayn mumbles, setting his head on Liam's shoulder. Liam rests his head on his, reciprocating the gesture.  
  
"Yeah, would it kill them to play some Nickelback or something?" Niall agrees, his nose buried on the set of cards he is holding. "Anyone got a 5 o'hearts?"  
  
"My first concert was Nickelback." Harry announces while handing Niall the card, looking disgustingly smug as ever as he got approving nods from the boys. He bit his magenta lips, looking at Louis expectantly through his lashes.   
  
Louis absolutely loathes that. He is not going to let Harry Fucking Styles have his Beyoncé moment after he left Louis half hard with no fucking idea of it.  
  
"Oh look how cool I am." Louis taunts. Their eyes met, and Louis had the pleasure of making Harry purse his lips and place his cards on the table, all his attention towards him now.  
  
Zayn rolls his eyes at Liam, gesturing him to do something. Liam sighs exaggeratedly and says, "My first conc-"  
  
"Don't you win the prize of coolness?" Louis interrupts, maintaining eye contact with Harry, smirking a bit for the hell of it.  
  
"My fir-" Zayn tries, scratching his jawline.  
  
"It was actually Cascada, I just didn't want to say that one." Harry retorts, setting his elbows on the table and inclining his body closer to Louis. That makes Louis laugh loudly because  _of course_  Harry would go to a Cascada concert. It's then he broke Harry's eye contact and looks around the table.  
  
Everyone else is quiet and just looking at them. Niall has this careful expression where he furrows one eyebrow and arches the other one. Zayn is staring at him blankly, used to this from their art course together. Liam has this deer-caught-in-headlights look with his eyes wide and mouth ajar, blinking excessively between them as a clear indicator of his obliviousness.  
  
"Okay, okay." Louis whispers, wanting the conversation to end. There is a long pause of silence, everyone just staring at the two.   
  
"Every fucking day." Niall sighs with a grimace.  
  
"I have no idea what you are talking about." Louis replies quietly, his napkin suddenly being the most interesting thing in the world.  
  
  
  
x  
  
  
  
Louis would say the night is going good. I mean, Harry is being a little shit every 5 minutes,  
  
("What the fuck is this shit? I ordered a fucking scotch not Strawberry Shortcake's secret garden." Louis groans, looking at the fluorescent pink drinks in disgust.   
  
"Oh that was Harry, he uh-" Liam would say, a hurried mutter from between the diameter of Zayn's lips, not daring breaking away from their kiss _.  
  
"You changed our orders?  _ What are you a level G panty dropper now? Manipulating the waitress of this obscenity?"   
  
Harry smiles, completely at ease. "I might have, yeah. Is that a problem,  _princess_?") (Louis kind of wants to strangle him).  
  
But other than that, everything's  _fine_. At least he's trying.   
  
  
  
x  
  
  
  
"Lou, it's like you're not even trying!" Niall groans, throwing his arms up in a gesture of frustration.   
  
Harry, Niall, and Louis are playing pool, while Zayn and Liam are cuddling (euphemism) on the couch on the other side of the game room. They're down to their third game of the night and Louis is at a point where he does not even bother hiding how utter shit he actually is at the game.  
  
"Well if you stop complaining and actually help me, I probably would not be so rubbish in the first place!"  
  
"I can't be arsed, you would not get it if I explained it to you, mate." Niall grumbles, rolling his eyes. If there is a flaw in Niall, it probably is of his low tolerance for incompetence.  
  
"Since when are you so cheeky? I don't remember you ever sassing me around." Louis asks, grinning at his friend from across the pool table.  
  
"Ever since I made the smart decision of hanging out with all you drama queens." he replies, walking to where Zayn and Liam are and sitting down with them.  
  
"Well I'm friends with a bottle blonde pig, an emo thug, and his whipped boyfriend. I believe you owe me an apology?" Louis calls out matter of factly and smiles as Zayn flicks him off, too busy to properly call out a response.  
  
"What, so I'm just here looking pretty?" Harry argues, not looking up from where he's hitting the cue ball. His eyebrows are sunken low on his forehead and he is sticking his tongue out in concentration. Competition looks good on him, Louis decides. "It's not like I've hung out with you guys for 2 months or anything."  
  
"You know what? I think Harry should teach you." Zayn says with his devil grin full of sharp teeth and tongue of careful manipulation.  
  
Louis turns around only to find Harry already looking at him, one eyebrow up and a cashmere sweater-warm smile.  
  
"Yeah, bond over some pool tips." Liam continues, earning a giggle and a kiss on the cheek from Zayn. There goes idiot 2. It's like they tag-team to see who would outshine the other in the 'let's see who can shit on everything Louis loves faster' game. Maybe that's why their relationship works so well, despite Liam acting like a single mother of 5 during flu season, and Zayn like a Tyler Durden wannabe who spray paints walls with inspirational quotes for a hobby ("Why do you do that?" "B _ecause fuck you, that's why_ ").  
  
"Besides, Niall wants to get us more drinks." Zayn adds, batting his eyelashes at him.  
  
"I might as well do, I'm not drunk enough for this." Niall grumbles, standing up and walking away towards the bar.  
  
See, it not that Louis doesn't want to; he's just not sure he could handle Harry pressed up against him, talking about  _balls_  of all things.  
  
Louis goes to object, but goes against it as Harry joins his side. He takes hold of Louis' cue stick, and whirls him around so that his bum was hovering over Harry's groin. He wraps his arms around Louis and places his hands on his waist, only hesitating a second before resting his chin to Louis' neck, which,  
  
 _oh_.   
  
"I'm not getting any younger." Louis complains when Harry stops moving altogether. It's only after his voice cracks that Louis realizes just how fucking gone he is. He's not this submissive with anyone _;_  then out nowhere this boy is nibbling on his earlobe, and well.   
  
Harry laughs, the low rumbles sending a shiver down Louis' spine, "I don't know, I'm perfectly fine just staying like this." he scoots closer with every word, wrapping his arms tighter and tighter around Louis so his hands are clasped together.  
  
"Hurry up you orangutan, and get off my bum." Louis snaps.   
  
"You have no idea how incredibly hard I'm trying to," Harry whispers, "and how hard you're making me." he adds, grinding his hips against Louis to prove his point. Louis closes his eyes and bit his lip to somewhat muffle the moan that escaped his lips.   
  
"I'd say you want me." he hums low and filthy on his ear as he takes Louis' hands, setting them on his cue stick. He forms a gap between his thumb and index finger, and was slowly glides the stick back and forward. It is so fucking  _dirty_ ; Louis' could feel his cock and pupils getting bigger with every slide.   
  
He presses open mouthed kisses at his neck, "Want me to slam my dick inside you, not even bothering opening you up at first so you could feel it every. time. you. walk."  
  
"Harry, let go." Louis tries, yet his words are empty and insignificant. He can just move away; if things go bad he can always run out of the pub, and completely erase Harry Styles away from his life. He can, but,  _he_   _can't_.  
  
"I could, but would you really want that? Hmm, love?" Harry murmurs, nuzzling his face in Louis' neck.  
  
He cranes his neck to take a look at Harry to find that he was already looking at him with hooded eyes. What behooves him, however, is the way he was fucking  _glowing_. His aura radiates that warmness that reminds Louis of his mum's when it's Christmas and his four sisters are singing along to Michael Bublé. Of Zayn at Liam's rugby game, whispering ridiculous little nothings into his Liam's ear full of 'I'm so proud of you', and 'I never doubted you for a second' as they embrace, completely oblivious to the world around them.  
  
He thinks back of the first time he met Harry: lopsided smile too big for his face, barefooted and pigeon toed, bird's nest of curls.  
  
Maybe it's better to surrender, the war was won before it begun.  
  
"Don't say that." Louis murmurs. And if he kneads his arse to Harry's groin, he'd like to think it was unintentional.   
  
"Don't say what?" Harry asks, his tone challenging. "Don't say how good I can make you feel, leave you screaming and quivering? How I can fuck you so hard you'll leave deep scratches down my back as I pound into you? How I'd stop to tease you, have you begging for it? Make you ask for it, plead for it until you're throbbing and leaking in my hand. How every time I take off my shirt, I'll see the scratches and think of you; your mouth, your eyes, your  _arse_. Is that what you don't want me to say? Fucking hell, Lou." he says, the last part more to himself as he plants his forehead to Louis' shoulder. He's taking deep breaths, and Louis can feel how hard he is through his jeans.  
  
He sounds so fucking  _confident_. Harry isn't like this. Harry is stupid tattoos, cherry blossom cheeks, and environmentally friendly. He's watermelon smiles, emerald eyes, and clumsy feet. Harry is a lot of things, but he is not this animal with chartreuse-neon eyes and a lustful tongue. Louis honestly does not know where the fuck this new edge came for, but he loves it.  
  
 _Loves.  
  
_ As soon as it starts, it ends. He's prying Harry's hands away from him, kicking and thrashing until he lets him go. As time passes, Harry looks more and more like a cornered Bambi in a bear's den looking up at Louis from where he fell to the floor. Liam is at Harry's side, already helping him up with Harry too shocked to actually coordinate a movement. Zayn is holding Louis, grasping his forearms so tightly he was sure perfect little bruises in the shape of Zayn's fingers were forming.   
  
But Louis doesn't care.   
  
Even as Zayn is hissing and spitting in his ear, "`The hell was that for, huh?"   
  
He doesn't care.  
  
Even as Liam spares him a look of those brown, puppy eyes that reflect everything he's not saying.   
  
He doesn't care.  
  
So when Harry starts to furiously wipe those traitor tears from his eyes, Louis makes sure to remember. Remember how simply a look can break your heart. Remember how just one glance of those intoxicating emeralds can get you hooked; leave you addicted, begging for more, until you lose control.   
  
He doesn't care, even if it means restricting yourself from the virtues of happiness; because nothing is worth the risk of heartbreak. If having Harry means breaking the walls that took years to build, then Louis vows to be content with being "just".  
  
He doesn't care.   
  
"Don't ever talk to me again." he whispers to Harry, too worn out to fight. Even as he pulls out of Zayn's death grip and runs the rest of the way to the outside of the pub to walk to his beaten-down flat in the cold, London rain, he doesn't care.  
  
Even as he unlocks his door with a pair of autumn-leave-shaky hands. Even as he trips and stumbles trying to get used to the darkness of the place, not even bothering to turn on the lights.  
  
 _He doesn't care.  
  
_ It wasn't until he was drowning in the fluffy duvet of his bed. His clothes doused in water that, despite the rain, still smelled like Harry. Like pine trees and Indian ink. Like apples and a cozy jumper. Like devotion and a promising future.  
  
  
  
x  
  
  
  
At first it was an inaudible shrug of the shoulders, which not much later turned to a loud, Kim Kardashian-ugly sob.  
  
Louis is so fucking gone for this boy.  
  
  
  
x  
  
  
  
"Next time, yeah?" Zayn says, and then the line dies.  
  
Louis sighs, running a hand through his hair. He's been waiting at the field for the boys the past 45 minutes. They've scheduled to meet up for football that afternoon, but Niall is hung over and Liam had to take his dog to the veterinarian after it choked on his chewing toy. That only left Zayn, but Louis knows he only agreed because Liam plays shirtless.  
  
That left Louis with a limited amount of options left. He could go home and watch some crap telly, probably get drunk and cry because his life is shit; or get his act together and play for a bit, then do it later,  _because his life is shit._  
  
The sun is low in the sky; Louis figures there is about an hour till it sets, so he kicks the ball and runs.  
  
He's lost in his thoughts, swinging his legs particularly harder whenever he thinks of Harry.  
  
It's been two weeks since he'd last seen him. Fourteen days. Three hundred thirty-six hours. Twenty thousand one hundred sixty minutes.  
  
If you love something, let it go. But how can he possibly do? With a boy this sweet, it's impossible not to be selfish.  
  
'I haven't met a single person who doesn't think of me as irresistible'.  
  
"Harry?" Louis calls him, spotting him from his spot behind the Maple tree. "Have you been  _stalking_  me?"  
  
"The boys said you'd be here- wait don't leave!" Harry yells, running after Louis. Louis is more athletic, but it still is no match for Harry's yeti legs. He gets tackled to the floor, landing on top of Harry with a (not) /feminine/ squeal.  
  
"Oops!" he exclaims, his eyes roaming Harry's face in the proximity. He's blushing, sweaty, and probably smells like a wet dog, but none of it matters.  
  
"Hi." Harry whispers, grabbing Louis' face and pulling him in for a kiss. Louis closes his eyes and reels him in, his lips surging for more. It ends quicker than what he was hoping for, his lips blindly ghosting through Harry's face just to get a taste of those euphoric lips.   
  
"Wait, Lou. I like you, like a lot. With that said, I-  _fuck_  do that again. Wait don't, I'm trying to tell you that- Louis,  _please_  don't make me come in a park full of toddlers." Harry all but groans, his hands sprawled on the field, pulling at the grass below him.  
  
"My place then, yeah?"   
  
Harry couldn't stand up fast enough.   
  
  
  
x  
  
  
  
As soon as they enter Louis' flat, Harry has him pinned against the wall. He slides his gigantic hands to Louis' bum and grinds his hips on him. Louis moans into his mouth, not breaking the kiss.   
  
"Where's your bedroom?" Harry asks, muscles straining as he pulls Louis impossibly closer, swiveling his hips.  
  
"First door on the right." he answers, sighing as he pushes Harry, guiding him to the room.  
  
They stumble into the room, and Louis throws Harry onto his bed, hovering over him. At this point, he's managed to take both his trousers and Harry's shirt off; collarbones lying in the open and Louis wants to bite them. This isn't just lust anymore; it's about territory. Louis wants to claim him. He wants to let the whole world know the angel that's sprawled on  _his_  bed, kissing  _his_  lips, is  _his_.  
  
Harry's hands find their way to Louis' pants, tugging at the waistband teasingly before sinking his hands inside and grasping Louis' length. He strokes him experimentally; a few tugs and thumbing around the head that draw out a string of low and dulcet moans from Louis.   
  
These small, endless pants are probably the most beautiful fucking thing Harry has ever heard in his life.  
  
"Your shirt, Lou. Off." Harry gasps breathlessly, fumbling with the collar of his t-shirt with his other hand. "Please."  
  
Leave it to Harry to have a cock in his hands and still have manners.  
  
Louis knows he's close. Harry's so fucking  _desperate_  and Louis tries his best to keep up, he really does. He sits up and straddles Harry's hips, throwing his t-shirt to the floor.   
  
"Fuck," Harry moans, his voice an octave deeper. His eyes roam Louis' chest, licking his lips excruciatingly slow, his hand picking up pace deliciously, "I can't believe you made me wait this long."   
  
"You can wait longer, too." Louis says, his voice breaking with every upstroke.   
  
"Lou!" Harry growls, his thumb stroking the thick vein on the underside of Louis' dick (Louis lost his shit right there).   
  
He comes in Harry's hand with a gasp. His thighs tremble and he brackets his arms on either side of Harry's head. Harry holds him through the aftershocks, using his free hand to pull him in for a kiss.   
  
Harry kisses like it's his last 10 seconds to live, holds him like it's 25 to life, and looks at him like it's his last move in chess. The world isn't ending, their lives aren't ending, but they might as well be.   
  
They stay like that for a while; pressed together, evening out their breathing. He's cuddled in Harry's humid chest, their films of sweat like blankets.  
  
He could stay there forever, he really could. But then Harry does  _a thing_.   
  
He's licking Louis' spunk, the bastard; eating it out of his hand like frosting. He moans, making a show out of it, and it brings Louis back from his post-orgasmic daze.   
  
With shaky arms, he digs his hands on Harry's chest as leverage to vigorously mark everywhere from his Adam's apple to his collarbones (finally). He moves to his pecs, spitting into one of his [four] nipples ( _is he even real_ ) before he sucks on it with the barest force. He takes the other in his hands and rolls it, the corners of this mouth rising at the loud, pornographic moans it elicits from Harry. He runs his tongue down the contours of his abs and kisses along his happy trail until he gets to the fly of his jeans.   
  
"So good." he praises meeting Harry's eyes as he tugs on the button of his jeans with his teeth.   
  
"Louis what are you-  _oh fuck_." Harry rasps out, his knuckles turning white as he grips the bed sheets, arching his back.   
  
Louis unzips Harry's fly and pulls his trousers off, Harry meeting him halfway and shimmying out of them. It's almost a game; a race to see how fast Harry Styles can get naked.   
  
Once Harry kicks his jeans off, Louis trails kisses starting from the clothed shaft to the tip peeking out of his pants, and gives it kitten licks for good measure. Harry's mouth slacks open, not quite seeming to catch his breath just yet.   
  
Louis pulls Harry's pants off, his erection curving to the hard lines of stomach. It is leaking, and big, and Louis should probably stop staring at it, but  _my poor bum_.   
  
He settles on the v of Harry's thighs and nips at the skin, purposely digging his nails in them to keep them in place as they rattle in anticipation. Harry starts to moan out incoherent chains of hurryhurryhurry and yesyesyes as Louis takes him in his hand and smears the precum pooling at his slit.  
  
He pumps him a few times, getting himself situated before he takes him in one go. His throat tightens and his nose touches the pubes on the base of Harry's groin. His eyes water as well, but Harry tangles his fingers in Louis' hair soothingly.   
  
He hollows his cheeks as he bobs his head, and looks up at Harry. "Fuck, Lou," Harry groans, throwing his head back with long, loud moans erupting from where he's caught his bottom lip in between his teeth. "I'm close."  
  
The thing is, he's so pretty; his cheeks are rosy, his curls are a mess of a chestnut coloured ocean, and the love bites are quickly darkening against the endless, white skin. Louis moans at the sight, the vibrations shooting to Harry's spine, and he's coming in hot spurts.   
  
Louis swallows and tongues the slit, absentmindedly cleaning him up.   
  
"So good, Lou." Harry's eyelashes flutter and he's pulling Louis closer to him, cuddling him to his side.   
  
Harry sighs, cradling Louis in his arms. "We should do this more often."   
  
Louis wants it all: The ache in his jaw, the buzzing feeling of sleep slowly taking over him, the hair doused in sweat plastered at the nape of his neck. He wants it today, he wants it tomorrow, he want it forever.   
  
"Definitely."  
  
  
  
x  
  
  
  
 **"What is love?"  
  
  
** It's really just fucking beautiful.  
  
  
True love, it engulfs you. It leaves you breathless, and you feel like if you're drowning. When you know you're doing everything in your power to stop this overwhelming feeling as you thrash your arms and gasp for air, and you spiral out of control.   
  
  
But it's futile.  
  
  
You build walls, assemble an army of minutemen, lock your heart from the desolation it's about to encounter. You're ready to collapse at any minute because, who could love someone so broken?  
  
  
Unless that love is mutual, then THAT is a whole different thing.  
  
  
You're no longer drowning. That precious oxygen is given to you, wrapped in gold satin, with cherubs surrounding it and singing to it. It's like life is a party, and you're not even aware of it.  
  
  
You feel complete.  
  
  
Louis isn't perfect, but neither is Harry. They both have their flaws, but it doesn't matter.   
  
  
They're in love.

fin

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks you loves for actually finishing this, ily all <3 
> 
> Let's exchange sexual advances:  
> \- http://dilourry.tumblr.com/  
> \- @dilourry  
> stay safe, eat your veggies, don't send nudes.


End file.
